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“Okay. I’m here for you, no matter what.”
Luke didn’t agree because he was so in love, he couldn’t imagine anything that he and Nico couldn’t overcome together. But unlike Nico’s parents’ buying a bakery in Philadelphia so Nico could live with Luke, no one was going to buy him a way to be with Liam and play professional baseball.
“What time are you throwing?” Luke asked.
“9:30. That okay?”
“Totally. You’re going kill it, Coury.”
He sure as fuck better, or else he’d walked away from Liam for nothing.
* * *
Coury ignored the gray-haired man pointing a radar gun at him from behind the back stop. He zeroed in on Luke’s glove and painted the corner just like the scout asked.
“Nice!” Luke said as he tossed the ball back.
The man looked up from the screen. “Runner on first. Work from the stretch. Righty at bat who can’t hit an inside breaking ball. Pitch him down and in.”
Coury didn’t expect him to be as effusive as Luke, but that last pitch had been perfect.
Ignore him.
He imagined a runner on base and assumed the stance to hold the runner. Luke called the pitch the guy asked for just like a catcher would in a real game. Coury nodded and Luke set up for the pitch.
Pushing everything aside, he sent the ball into Luke’s glove with a loud smack.
“Nice slider,” the scout said, lowering the radar gun.
Slider. He was going to miss that dog. The ache he’d pushed aside so he could pitch returned. It was going to be a long time before he didn’t have that word association.
“Okay.” The guy waved him in. “I’ve seen what I wanted.”
Coach Brophy met him on his way off the field. “Great job.”
“Thanks, Coach.” He wasn’t sure if his audience felt the same.
The scout sat on the aluminum bleacher and scribbled notes in a book. Paper and pen were old school, but it fit him. He tapped the pen to the page, shut the book, and walked over.
“Thanks, Mike.” He shook hands with Coach Brophy. “You were right. Again.”
“Sometimes I get it right.” He turned to Coury and nodded.
“You nailed this one.” He winked. “I’ll cut to the chase. Your fastball has movement, you’ve got good control, and decent velocity. Breaking pitch is above average, but you need another good-to-above-average pitch to move up. Work on that during the season.”
Coury willed his smile not to droop. “Yes, sir. I will.”
“If you pitch like you did for me during the season, you’ll punch your ticket. That third pitch is for the future. You won’t be in the top ten rounds, I call it like a see it, but you might crack the top twenty. I’d settle in and look for a call around the twentieth round. After that . . .” He shrugged.
Coury’s brain stopped processing words after “top twenty,” so it took a moment before he could answer. “After that, it’s on me.”
“Exactly. Come prepared to fight for what you want. Everyone else will.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“You bet.” He put his hand on Coach’s back. “I saw a couple kids in high school you may want to look at recruiting. I have their info in my car.”
Coury blinked as the two older men walked away. Reality returned when Luke thwacked him on the back. “That’s amazing! Congrats, Coury!”
“Yeah.” He smiled. “I’m still not believing it.”
“This is what you wanted. I’m thrilled for you.”
Just beyond where Coach Brophy and the scout had stopped to talk, Coury saw a familiar figure. Liam had his back to them as he walked away.
“Is that . . . ?” Luke asked.
“Yep.”
Coury’s phone vibrated on the bleacher.
Liam: You were awesome! Congrats!
* * *
Liam
Pulling in behind his brother’s car, Liam considered going somewhere else. He’d hoped—but not really expected—his brother would have left already. There was no reason to stick around; Beckett’s grand party weekend plans had imploded the moment he arrived.
But he was still here.
Fine. Liam wasn’t going to hide anymore.
Slider came tearing for the door, a bundle of barks and paws. Pop cursed as the rugs went flying. They really needed to get better pads for those rugs.
“Hey, little buddy.” Liam reached down and scratched his head. “We better find a way to keep you from messing up the rugs.”
“I swear I’m going to chain that dog to the back door.” Pop followed the terrier into the hall and straightened the rug. “And don’t say it. I know.”
Liam smiled and hung up his coat.
“It’s what they do,” Beckett said from the kitchen.
That quickly, Liam’s tiny bit of joy burned away. He frowned. If he went upstairs, he could avoid his brother. He might even take the hint and leave without delivering a lecture. Pop killed that plan by pointing to Liam and then to the kitchen.
Beckett had waited for him. How delightful.
Liam ignored his brother and went for the coffee machine. Pretending there was no one there, he got a mug, selected a pod, and hit the button.
